


To wait

by JemDoe



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, luna appears on the 2nd chapter, shady marriage practices
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-04-12
Packaged: 2019-03-18 00:21:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13670373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JemDoe/pseuds/JemDoe
Summary: waitverb [ I ]to allow time to go by, especially while staying in one place without doing very much, until someone comes, until something that you are expecting happens or until you can do something.





	1. Chapter 1

The rain that fell was heavy and made the cemetery even more sinister. Typical British weather, Harry guessed, but he didn’t exactly enjoy it.

Still, he was there because a formality was a formality. One of his superiors had died, and as such, the entire Auror corps were there to pay their respects. Not that Harry actually cared, since he didn’t respect the man - he found Captain Charles a crass man that cared more for the recognition of the Auror team than its improvement, and Harry really didn’t care about being recognized; the fact the man gave him promotions when there were better people who deserved it more because, in his words, “the Boy Who Lived gives our department more attention” just cemented it.

Well, that was the apparent reason. He had another motive to dislike the man, but it wasn’t up to him to tell.

No matter. The man was dead, now. With a shake of his head to clear his thoughts, Harry watched as the coffin was lowered into the earth, trying his very best to look solemn. His eyes, however, wandered, pausing on the widow, wearing a dark veil to hide her face. The widow was an old acquaintance of his, and he wondered if the veil was to hide red eyes, or the lack of tears. Probably the second option.

The widow didn’t even have a tremble to her shoulders, but Harry guessed she wasn’t one to cry in public. The girl he had known refused to, at least, on the few times he had talked with her. Harry wondered if she remembered his name. Probably not - she had been deep in grief when they had met and talked.

The coffin rested against the ground, and the priest - a Muggle one, for some reason he couldn’t explain, but it wasn’t his funeral - said a few words Harry barely listened to, before they started throwing dirt on the coffin. The widow went first, a handful of dirt falling from her gloves into the ground, and she stepped back, allowing other to do the same.

Harry, hanging back in the crowd, did not join, pretending to look solemn. He had better things to do than throw dirt in a coffin. 

The funeral goers, soon after, started greeting the widow - alone, just her and no one else. No other parts of Charles family were with the widow. Harry wondered if the captain had no siblings, or they were dead. A curious thought. 

He decided to stay at the back of the line, head down, pretending the grass was the most interesting thing in his life until it was his turn. He wasn’t in the mood to have his every movement watched in this moment. He already had been lucky the reporters hadn’t come to the funeral; better not test it.

The woman in front of him finished her greeting, and the widow - the same soft, quiet voice he remembered - thanked her for it. Harry looked up as the woman (it was captain Charles’ secretary, perhaps?) left, and he could feel the widow’s stare through the veil.

“I am truly sorry for your loss, Mrs. Queensbury.” He said, even though he didn’t feel very sorry. “Might I ask how he died?”

There was silence on her part, as the widow looked around, and grabbed her wand.

“Could you please repeat your question?” She asked, doing some discrete and silent wandwork, setting up a silence ward around the two.

“Well, Mrs. Queensbury, I asked how your husband died, if you don’t mind telling me.” The widow’s shoulders trembled, but by the way she was acting, it wasn’t because of tears - she was having a hard time stopping laughter to fall from her lips. “I’m afraid the report we received wasn’t very detailed. Something about… Work exhaustion?”

Considering how little the man actually did, Harry had had his doubts. Why not check it from the source, then?

“Of course _. Work exhaustion _ , it makes so much sense. My husband died doing what he loved, you know; a girl way younger than him.” She replied, and even if Harry couldn’t see the bitter smile he knew she sported, it was in her voice. No wonder she had set up that ward. “And don’t call me by his surname. You may as well call me Daphne while we are alone, Harry.”

Ah, so she, in fact, remembered him. That was… Rather nice, he supposed. He had wondered if her husband had done anything to her memories, but it seemed he hadn't.

“Of course, Daphne. So the rumor was true?” There  _ had  _ been a rumor he had been cheating on his wife with his secretary, but nothing was ever confirmed.

“Quite so. The young lady that was in front of you was the guilty party, but she fled the scene quite quickly. Not that I’d care, because she killed him for me, but…” Her words wandered off, and Harry simply nodded, half wondering if perhaps he shouldn’t arrest the girl. His manners reminded him it wasn’t polite to arrest someone at a funeral, and kept himself quiet as Daphne stayed silent.

Harry had met Daphnee Queensbury - _née_ Greengrass - in school, even if they hadn’t spoken until the Battle of Hogwarts, when she found out her younger sister, Calliope, had been killed by a stray Avada Kedavra, and he had been the one near her body.

Daphne, as he remembered, had simply stared at the corpse of the girl while her sister Astoria cried copiously, and while tears had been shining on her eyes (eyes the colour of a stormy ocean), she had not cried. Her hands were wringing nervously, and he could see the gold of a wedding ring on her finger. Curious, considering she was probably his age. He wondered who was the boy who had married her. Or, perhaps, it was just a fashion choice. He had no idea.

“I should have protected her.” She said, soft, mellow voice barely heard through the sobbing of her sister, through the commotion in the Great Hall “She was too young to be fighting.”

“It’s not your fault.” He had blurted out, surprising even himself, and Daphne had simply stared at him like he was mad. He felt he  _ was _ , but it was out of his control. He was… Saying his goodbyes, in a way, and this was how he decided to spend his last moments; helping people who were grieving.

Not like he wasn’t being of much help, but it was the thought that counted, and he wanted to make his last moments alive (possibly) count. 

“It is. I am the oldest. It was my duty to protect her.” Her eyes tore off from his, and she stared at the body. The girl was small - no more than a first or second year, at most -, and yes, it was quite the tragic death. “We all have our duties, Harry Potter. Mind yours, and I’ll mind mine.”

Her sister hissed something to her, but Harry simply blinked, stepping back, and nodding. She wanted to grieve, and wanted Harry to not interfere. Cool. He could work with that.

After he died (not really) and came back, he stayed in the castle a few more days after the battle, trying to regain a sense of normalcy that seemed to be further from his grasp every day. It seemed like every ten or so minutes, a reporter appeared out of thin air, trying to get an interview with him. The fact he had already given an interview (to The Quibbler) and he refused to give out another seemed to be ignored by them. 

As such, Harry only felt peace on the kitchen of Hogwarts, where no one came anymore - well, at least not in the middle of the night -, drinking coffee to keep himself awake for no particular reason. He didn’t want company, neither did he expect it.

Alas, like always, life didn’t agree with his plans - the door to the kitchen opened with a  _ bang _ , and in marched a furious Daphne Greengrass, a letter scrunched up in her hands. Harry watched as she marched to an oven, opening it with a quiet spell, before throwing the letter inside, watching as it turned to ashes for a mere moment before closing it.

Harry was practically holding his breath, trying his best to not be noticed, as she moved around, grabbing what was needed for tea. He guessed she wanted tea, because most people weren’t the type to drink coffee at three in the morning, like he was currently doing.

When she noticed him, she stopped her actions, holding a kettle with one hand, mid-movement to open its cover.

“ _ You _ .” Her tone was flat, almost an accusation, and Harry flinched. Just a little, though.

“I’m already leaving, don’t worry.” He said, rising up, and a mess of conflicting emotions passed through her face. Harry hesitated. “Unless… You’d like me to stay…?”

“Yes, please.” Daphne huffed, taking the cover out of her kettle, filling it with water. “I need to rant about my husband, and anyone will do. Even  _ you _ , Potter.”

He was… Well,  _ flattered  _ wasn’t the right word.

“That’s nice and all, but I don’t think I’ve got your name.” He asked, mostly because he knew her, from afar, but wasn’t sure on her name. He thought it was…

“Daphne Queensbury.” She said, rolling her eyes. “I’d rather use Greengrass, really, but my husband  _ insisted  _ I changed it.”

Harry was almost,  _ almost  _ sure she was in his year. Wasn’t she a bit too young to be married? And, to top it off, with a husband that made her change her name?

As if reading his mind, Daphne huffed, playing with a strand of black hair. The kettle went to the stove, and she approached, quiet. Everything she did was quiet.

“I didn’t get married by a choice of my own free will, if it’s what you’re thinking.” She sat down, letting her eyes wander to Harry. He played, absentmindedly, with the handle of his mug. “My family had a contract dating back to the 15th century, and Charles and I were the only fitting people.  _ Somehow _ . I have no idea how it happened.”

Oh, she was calling him by his first name. He probably wasn’t very old - maybe five or six years more. That  _ was…Reasonable _ , even if not by much. He was oddly relieved.

“And even though we got married when I was twelve, he let me study.” She sighed, and Harry choked on his spit. She looked at him, blushing a little - her ears were a telltale sign. It was kind of cute. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s alright, I guess it’s just… Culture shock.” He said, in the end. How much weird stuff he didn’t know about the wizarding world, as well? “So, uh, out of curiosity, how old is your husband?”

The kettle started hissing, and Daphne turned to face it for a moment.

“He’s fifty.” She replied, rising up to tend to the kettle, and Harry felt the colour draining from his face.  _ Fifty?  _ At least she wasn’t seeing him; it gave Harry a moment to recompose himself. “But I’ll only live with him after I end school, so it’s… Not as bad as it could be.”

Harry was starting to wonder if, perhaps, he should just head back to the Muggle world. He watched as she carefully poured water on a teacup, magicking the leaves next, and approached carefully.

“And… You don’t mind it?” He asked, and she smiled. Harry did not know what to expect from her smile - it disarmed him.

“Of course I mind! Do you think any twelve-year-old girl wants to marry a man that’s old enough to be her father? Of course I am unhappy with this hand I was given.” She paused - forced, if the way she shuddered was any indication, gripping her cup of tea with more strength than what was strictly necessary, and the smile on her face seemed forced as she fidgeted with her wedding ring. “Sorry. The contract came with its… Presents.”

The wedding ring glowed with runes he couldn’t fully understand, and Harry had the slightest idea of what he was up against.

“In a totally unrelated change of subject, though, you seem pretty chipper about, well,  _ everything _ .” Harry said, cautiously, trying his very best not to step on a landmine.

“Yes, I was ordered to be happy. As such, I must be.” She drank a sip of her tea, and Harry said nothing. “Charles said he didn’t want another depressed wife.”

That was… Sad. And cruel. To not allow one to mourn their losses sounded unhealthy. But, anyway, what did he know about anything healthy? Harry was drinking coffee to keep himself awake for no particular reason he could discern.

“So, in turn, I’ve been burning his letters! It’s the revenge I can take, and you better  _ bet  _ I'll take it.” Daphne chirped, once more, and smiled sweetly. “But I don’t mind. He’ll die, one day. And then, I’ll be free from every responsibility.”

“Cheers to that.” Harry replied, nodding, and she did the unthinkable - Daphne reached through the table, kissing him for a moment: just enough for him to notice how soft her lips were, but not nearly enough for him to register until she had separated, eyes diverted from his, hands trembling. The smell of charred skin rose up, overpowering the coffee and tea, and they pretended not to feel it.

“Sorry,” She blurted out, blushing. “I was… Curious.”

“Curious,” Harry echoed, feeling himself blush as well.

“Yes. I wondered how it’d be like to disobey, but…” Daphne rose her hand, showing the hand, which glowed in red runes, now, warm and malevolent. A net of angry red lines had appeared, starting from the ring, and it seemed painful. “I wish I was free. All of this is… Too much.”

“I understand.” He replied, and the two fell into comfortable silence until morning, when Harry left with a quiet “goodnight”.

She joined him, late at night, once or twice more, chatting about inanities that let time pass and let them know more about each other, before disappearing from Hogwarts. He wondered if he should ask her sister - Astoria, as he had learned -, where Daphne had gone, but Harry knew the answer; it was to Charles Queensbury house, wherever it might be. He honestly didn’t expect to see her again, but the feeling of her lips on his persisted for longer than Harry cared to admit.

But, as if his life ever let him live to his expectations, Harry entered the Auror forces, and discovered his boss was Daphne’s husband. He saw her another time, in private, but it didn’t matter right now.

Back to the present, Daphne stared at him. At least, he thought she was staring. The veil made it hard to know.

“And what are your plans, if you don’t mind me asking?” He asked, and the smirk she sported was an aura around Daphne.

“Custom dictates I must stay in mourning for six months, at least.” She drawled, looking around. The cemetery was empty, save for the two of them, in their silence ward. Daphne, seemingly aware of this, rose up her veil a little, allowing Harry to see her face, the smirk he knew was there present. He smirked back at her. “But after that six months, I’m going to do so much. Live it up, as people say.”

“I wish you good luck in your endeavors, then.” Harry said, politely, and she let the silence ward fall. “Might I ask what you’re going to do?”

“I plan on becoming a trophy wife again,  _ obviously _ . Quite the good life, minus the entire contract deal I was handed.” Daphne replied, and Harry could feel her looking up and down him. “Perhaps to even another Auror captain, if he’ll have poor me, a widow with nothing to my name.”

… Was that directed at him? Harry felt it was. Perhaps he was reading too much into it.

“Is shopping for a new husband, at a funeral, a wizard custom?” Harry felt the smirk was perpetual on his face, just like it was on hers, and she shrugged.

“Might be, might be not. But, a word of warning, though: I’m accustomed to a very, very good life, so if you wish to compete for my hand, do your best to raise your ranking.” 

Harry laughed at that, and the smile she gave him was warm and welcoming. Offering a mock of a bow, he kissed her gloved hand.

“Interesting move.” Was all Daphne said, when he rose up, and he simply nodded. Daphne made a polite curtsy at him, and turned to look at the tombstone, which Harry took as his cue to leave. 

However, he couldn’t help but look at her figure, from far away, and wonder how fast six months could pass by. It was little, compared to what he had waited.


	2. Chapter 2

It was on the six month anniversary of Captain Charles death that Harry saw Daphne again. He hadn’t been thinking about the specifics of the date before he stumbled inside the bar - Ginny was having a candlelit dinner with Luna and he _really_ wasn’t in the mood to be a third wheel, so drinking until the moon was high in the sky was the way to go -, but when he saw her, sitting alone and drinking at the bar, he was reminded of that.

She did say six months was the custom. He didn’t expect for her to follow to the letter. With a soft sigh, he slid by her side, and Daphne simply rose up an eyebrow at her.

“Auror Potter.” She drawled. There was a slight slur to her words, and she was playing with a half-empty glass. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“It is the bar half of the Auror forces go, ma’am.” Harry replied, and Daphne smirked, as he signaled for the bartender to give them both shots of firewhiskey. “Might I ask what a widow does in such places?”

“Charles always brought a woman from here to sully my doorstep. Perhaps I was wondering if I could do the same.” With the clothes she wore-  a tight black dress, high heels, the hair she usually had worn piled up in a bun now down like a dark cape around her shoulder; Harry was tempted to take on her offer. If, of course, she was offering him anything. “Might you be so inclined to take this poor widow home?”

The dress was familiar, but from where? He strained to remember, as he kept speaking with Daphne.

“I don’t know, I may need some more convincing.” Harry smirked, and she grinned - ear to ear, like a cat that was in the process of getting the canary out of its cage. Harry wondered if he was the canary, for a moment. He drank his firewhiskey, and she watched, stormy eyes hungry. “Do tell me, you came here because you wanted revenge, or to shock half of the force? This is the bar most of us come, after work.”

She sipped her firewhiskey, shrugging delicate shoulders, and Harry simply chuckled.

“What if I wanted? It is my want, after all.” She replied, and looked at him, side-eyed. “I do have my free will back, after all.”

“And what have you been doing with it?” Harry asked, truly curious. Daphne merely smiled.

“It’s been years since I’ve had my hair down, so that’s nice.” Daphne mused, smiling like a child, and Harry finally realized where the dress was from - it was from that party, so many years ago. As he heard Daphne speak about the present, he went down a trip to memory lane.

It had been Captain Charles’ turn to host the annual Christmas party of the Auror forces, and Harry had been just promoted within the ranks. Sure, he had learned pretty quickly after the fact of the Captain’s true intentions with his promotion, but a party was a party, and really, Harry wasn’t able to refuse.

The idea he might be able to see Daphne once more had also been a factor, but he silenced that line of thought pretty quickly. She was married, probably to his boss (not that he had ever been able to just slide next to his boss and ask about his wife, as if it were casual), and the idea of a love triangle really, really revolted him.

As such, he invited Luna (Ginny was out of town, and Luna had just arrived; why not give her an opportunity to baffle some Aurors? It’d make for some good fun for them, really, and Harry was going to need the most fun ever), and off they went.

He hadn’t expected to be greeted by Daphne, and yet - there she was, glittering against the soft light of the roaring fireplace, the long dress she wore tight and punctuated by diamonds, high heels adding to her height - the hairstyle she wore, a braid piled up in a bun, helped matters, as well. On her gloved finger, the runed ring, the runes glittering like sapphires.

“Welcome to the Queensbury household,” She said, voice quiet and soft, and utterly alien, eyes empty and glassy. “We have a coat room at the left, if you might need it.”

“This is the biggest concentration of Wrackspurts I’ve ever had the pleasure of seeing.” Luna declared, and that stunned Daphne long enough for the ring to stop glowing. “Oh, hello there.”

“Hello.” Daphne said, and nodded to the two of them, smiling politely, assuming her role of a perfect hostess once more, now sans magical, glowing runes. “Please, feel at home, and thank you for coming.”

“It is our pleasure.” Harry replied, and she gestured for them to go on. Luna and Harry simply looked at each other, obeying, and going into a large foyer, where people were already either dancing or drinking. Luna simply stared ahead, her dress - blue, to her knees, with little white points that reminded Harry of a night sky - was infinitely simpler than that of the others, but Harry felt it was prettier.

Perhaps with one exception, but Harry wasn’t going to say anything. The two settled at a quiet table, and made polite chit-chat with Ron and Hermione - Hermione, who seemed more stressed than never, and Ron, who seemed oblivious to it all -, watching the others go by as they drank. Luna invited him to dance, and he politely accepted, but his eyes were kept on the hostess, who seemed to stay, silent, like a statue, by Captain Charles’ side, eyes down and no personality whatsoever showing.

Like a doll, he noticed. A pretty porcelain doll that sat, quiet, looking straight ahead, doing nothing at all, not even when her husband left and did not return. She did rose up when people started to leave, however, playing the smooth, quiet role of a perfect hostess once more.

Luna, who had been by his side, baffling others with tales of the creatures she had found (Hermione would later scold them, saying that “the weird creature that eats toes in a previously undescribed Amazon river isn’t exactly polite party chattering, Luna, and Harry, you shouldn’t have asked Luna to describe it in more detail!”, to which Luna and Harry simply giggled, like the school children they weren’t), elbowed him when the number of people in the room thinned out, just Harry, Luna, a bunch of other too-drunk Aurors, and Daphne, at a corner, half-hidden by shadows.

“What?” He hissed, and Luna grinned, pale eyes looking in Daphne’s direction. He knew what she wanted. “No, Luna.”

“She’s the lonely, possibly being cheated on, wife of your boss.” Luna said, as if reading from a book. Harry looked at her with half-lidded eyes. “And you are her knight in a shining armor.”

“Luna, I’m going to beg that you stop reading romance books.” Harry replied, rising up nonetheless, and shushing Luna when she merely grinned at him. He pretended not to see, cautiously walking until he found himself side by side with Daphne, nodding at her. 

Her eyes didn’t seem clouded anymore, just quiet, and the wedding ring definitely didn’t glow anymore. She looked at him for a moment, and the smile she had seemed forced.

“Already going, and leaving behind miss Lovegood?” Her voice was polite, quiet, and her eyes traveled to the staircase her husband had disappeared through. “Didn’t peg you as the type to leave a lady behind, Harry.”

“I’m not going now, not without talking with the hostess.” Was his reply, and Daphne sighed. “Unless, of course, my presence bothers you.”

“No, of course not.” As if to punctuate her words, Daphne shook her head. “You’re the first person to speak to me as if I’m… You know,  _ alive _ . Most of them are just trying to curry favor with Charles through me.”

“Is the Captain aware of it?” He asked, and she shrugged, like she didn’t care. In truth, Harry felt Daphne pretty much  _ didn’t _ . 

“If he is, he is very good at hiding it. If he’s not, then I’m not the one who’s going to tell him that.” Daphne shrugged once more, and Harry simply nodded. “Besides, you know, it’s not like I care. He’s going to die, one day, and this… This won’t matter. I’ll never see these people again.”

She waved to the ballroom, as if to punctuate her words, and smiled to herself. Harry looked to the empty ballroom, men sitting on tables drinking and women gossiping (Luna, the sole exception; she was chattering with a man, and by the look on his face, he was baffled. Maybe it was the toe-eating Amazon creature again...), and turned his eyes back to Daphne.

“If I’m included in that affirmative, I must say I’m hurt.” At that, Daphne giggled, like a child. Harry couldn’t help but smile. “Very hurt. I’m not even trying to curry favor with the Captain.”

“Oh, really? Who are you trying to curry favor with, then?” Daphne poked, inclining herself to be near him. “Poor little me?”

“Why not? Say, when the Captain dies, I’ll take you somewhere nice.” He offered, even though it was almost like cursing the man. However, Harry couldn’t really care about it. “Like, let’s say…”

“Take me drinking, that’s all.” Daphne interrupted, and Harry looked at her with one raised eyebrow. “He doesn’t let me drink. It looks… Enjoyable.”

That was one way to put it.

“Sure.”

The only thing Harry had been sure was that he had forgotten it until now, but there was a very, very high chance Daphne had forgotten it as well. Back to the present, he drank with her, quietly speaking about the things she wanted to do and see, and, at one point - her face flushed pink from drinking, a lazy smile playing in her lips -, she pointed at him.

“Won’t you take me somewhere nicer?” She said, and Harry smiled, taking out money from his wallet and sliding it through the counter, the bartender appearing as if out of thin air to take it. 

“My house is sadly occupied, but I assume yours isn’t.” Daphne simply smiled, taking his hand, and leading Harry out. She was less drunk than expected, or maybe Daphne just _knew_ how to walk in those high heels. A third option was that the drunk one was _Harry_ , and he was starting to consider it seriously. Perhaps it was him. Perhaps it was both.

Daphne, as if reading his mind, simply smiled at him like a cat that had eaten a canary, and pulled him further into her grasp, kissing him. He wasn’t even aware it was possible to fall more for her, but it seemed he learned something new every day.

The morning after, Daphne disappears. Harry isn't sure where she is, or where she was, but, as the lingering smell of her disappeared from his skin, he was sure she was free. Logically, he knew he should be more worried, perhaps a tad disappointed - but it was her choice, after all, and he'd patiently wait until she came back.

 


	3. Chapter 3

He didn’t see her for another three months - but that was a coincidence. Harry had been wasting his time outside - Ginny and Luna had, once more, occupied his apartment, and Harry had decided that he could probably rent out a movie to watch at a later date, at the local movie rental place. He was trying to decide whether he wanted the terrible action movie or the bad romcom when he saw someone familiar run through the rain.

It couldn't possibly  _ be  _ Daphne - what, in Merlin’s name, would Daphne be doing, running in the rain, in a Muggle neighborhood? -, but Harry still found himself abandoning his movie worries, going after her as if his life depended on it. He could feel himself getting wet to the bones, in that odd downpour, but he really didn’t care.

“Daphne!” He called, and she turned - oh, it was her! -, simply running faster in her high heels. Harry found himself grinning, catching up to her. 

When he got to her, she was waiting under a marquee, dark hair clinging to her face like dark tendrils. Her lips were painted red, he noticed. 

“Daphne?” He asked, cautious. There was a chance it wasn’t her, after all. Still…

“Harry.” Her voice was muffled, the rain louder than her, but it was almost like Harry’s ears had been attuned to listen her speak. 

“I didn’t expect to find you… Well, here.” He made a vague, sweeping gesture to their surroundings; it was a Muggle neighborhood through and through, and Daphne was anything but a muggleborn. 

She simply smiled.

“If I told you I decided to live as a muggle, would you believe me?” Harry wasn't a great actor, if the way she laughed - bitter, caustic - was any indication. “I know it sounds impossible, but I am. I was… Looking for a change.”

Daphne started drying her hair with her hands, twisting it like… Well, a Muggle. It was...

“Here?” The incredulity in his tone was audible; it made Harry wonder if it showed on his face. Looking at both sides, checking if no one was around but them, Harry took out his wand and did a quick drying spell on them both.

“Thank you, I'm not carrying my wand.” She did a small curtsy that seeped with mockery. Harry wondered why she was not carrying it. “But yes, here. It’s a lovely place. There's a theater that even shows French movies.”

“Not carrying your wand…?” Very parroted, and Daphne shrugged.

“I don't feel like using magic, is all.” She rested against the dirty wall, and Harry wondered if she was alright. She seemed okay, but she was raised with magic; not using it was odd.

It showed on his face, apparently; she cackled, light crossing her face in a  bewitching way, making Harry’s heart skip a beat. It wasn't the right time.

But, again, was there ever a right time, for the two of them?

“You…?” His words wandered off, and she smiled in a reckless way.

“What good has magic ever brought upon me? Magic gave my sister an early grave and to me, a husband I wouldn’t have ever, ever chosen out of my own free will. Tell me, Harry, isn't it fair that, as such, I leave it behind me?” The smile that curled her lips was that of a cat. “No magic. Nothing. It does not deserve me.”

Harry couldn’t understand it, but it was not the point, was it? While magic had saved him, it hadn’t offered her the same thing - for Harry, it had been an escape from the Dursleys; to Daphne, it had been the gilded cage she had been stuck in.

Clearing his throat, Harry decided it was time for a subject change.

“So, French movies?” He asked, and she glowed. She really liked them, it seemed, so why not let her think about something nice, for a change?

“Oh, yes. I was actually going to catch one, but the rain changed my plans.” With that, Harry pulled from his pocket a fabric tissue - and feeling more like a magician than ever, he transformed that into an umbrella. Daphne giggled, like a child, and latched onto his arm when they went to the street, now more protected from the heavy rain.

She guided him, silently, through the empty streets, splashing water with every step, until they reached the theater - a place so small and worn down, Harry would have never noticed. Not even a light was lit inside it, and when Daphne simply pulled him inside, Harry wondered if maybe they weren’t entering some abandoned, derelict building instead.

But no, they weren’t; inside was warm and dry, some people hanging around small tables, a few rooms with closed doors that seemed to have soft sounds of talking coming from the inside. A small theater, surely, but one nonetheless.

Daphne moved to what seemed like a small ticket station, and Harry followed her after a moment, closing his umbrella, and arriving just in time to hear her say the name of whatever movie she wanted to watch, something in French. He had no idea what the title was, or what it meant, but Harry was sure that he would enjoy it.

Two and a half hours later, the two hadn’t enjoyed the movie, _ per se _ , but Harry had to admit that he enjoyed spending time with Daphne - picking apart the terrible movie, bad acting and hole-ridden plot. Even though it was supposed to be a drama, the over the top acting made it seem like a comedy.

It was a French movie through and through, Harry supposed, as Daphne, muttering something in French that sounded like one of the lines, in a mocking tone, tried to recover her breath. There were still some tears of laughter in the corner of her stormy eyes, and the two of them pointedly ignored the way other patrons glared at them.

“Final rating?” He asked, opening the door for her, revealing that it was still raining outside, but not quite as strong as before. Perhaps he wouldn’t need the umbrella anymore. 

Daphne laughed, twirling a bit as she got out, hands on her back, hair whipping around her.

“Honestly? From me, a seven.” When Harry opened his mouth to protest, Daphne rose a finger, as if telling him to stay quiet - and stay quiet he did. “Listen, it was terribly over the top, but I had fun watching it with you, and really, can I ask anything more than that from any movie?”

Harry turned that over his head for a moment, and then, simply nodded in agreement. He couldn’t, truly, ask for anything more from a movie.

“It’s a five from me,” When Daphne opened her mouth to protest, Harry rose up his hands, in a sign of defeat. “Sorry, but I got too distracted by the open cat plot to give any more points to it. Maybe if the cat hadn’t just disappeared in the second half of the film…

“It was a metaphor for her crumbling life, but yes, I agree to disagree.” Daphne nodded, and walked into the slow-trickling rain, a smile on her face. “You know what, Harry? This was fun. I’d love to go catch another movie with you.”

“I’d love it, too.” Harry replied, and Daphne did another little twirl, as if she was a kid playing in the rain. 

“Have my address. It’s…” She said the name of a street nearby, probably less than two blocks away, and he was surprised she lived somewhat close. He hadn’t expected it.”If you ever think you have an interesting movie to show me, just drop by. But, for now…”

She approached, and kissed him for a brief moment, wet lips against his only long enough for Harry to register what she had done - because when he had time to react, she had separated already.

“See you soon.” She said, and Harry - still half in shock - simply watched as she went on her merry way.

When reality caught up with him, Harry simply shook his head, chuckling to himself, and wondering if the video rental place was still open; however, instead of going there, he made his way home, satisfied with his movie choice - and company - for the night.

When he arrived home, Luna and Ginny were there, painting each other’s nails, and Harry sighed, passing a hand through his hair. They looked up, and Ginny sent him one simple look.

“I can’t believe you met Daphne and didn’t even bring her to meet us,” Ginny said, before her eyes turned back to the nail polish selection. “Luna, dear, the red or the pink?”

“Red is the colour of the team you’ll be playing against tomorrow. I say blue.” Luna sent him a look, as well, and Harry - too befuddled to do anything else than sit near them - simply made a “how do you know that?” gesture. “It’s your eyes.”

“Yeah, they’re all sparkly and stuff.” Ginny waved him off, and Harry sighed. It was that easy to tell, huh? “Also, the fact you took three hours on a quick, usually fifteen minutes movie run was very, very telling.”

“We figured out you were either with her, or you were kidnapped.” Luna grabbed the green nail polish, and started to delicately paint Ginny’s nails. 

“And if you were kidnapped, you probably deserved it. I mean, you’re an Auror, and you wouldn’t be able to shake off a few kidnappers-to-be? You?” Ginny pointed out, allowing Luna to paint her nails green. 

Merlin, they were immersing themselves in their own little fantasy world. Harry sighed, and decided watching that was better than a movie.

“It’d make a great book, you’d have to admit.” Ginny seemed to ponder about this, for a moment. “Harry Potter and… The second coming of Voldemort.”

“Sounds awful.” Harry interjected, and Ginny shrugged. “I mean, it sounds like a children’s book. Why not just the subtitle? Why put my name on it, at all?”

“First, it’s a cash grab. Second, how dare you mess up our creativity.” Ginny said, and Luna giggled. “Anyway, I’m thinking big battle against Grindelwald in the second act…”

As Ginny and Luna went off, rambling about an impossible movie, Harry couldn’t help but think that the one he had watched with Daphne was better. 

Maybe it had been the company, he reasoned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> squeezed this and one more out. pls enjoy


	4. Chapter 4

Supposedly, Harry had been briefed, someone or something was hiding some powerful creature or artifact in Hyde Park, and the Aurors were now being forced to patrol the park to find suspicious activity.

Easier said than done, especially while the rain fell, thick as a blanket. It seemed to always be raining, nowadays, but Harry didn’t seem to mind too much. He was well guarded by an umbrella, anyway.

But still, patrolling a park, not knowing what he should be looking for - suspicious activity? Animal tracks? _Suspicious_ animal tracks? Was he to check out each and every bush, as well? - was boring. All he did was people watch.

“Shouldn’t you be paying attention?” Asked Daphne, sitting by his side, the bench Harry was resting on mercifully dry. She opened the book she had in hands - a book about… Physics? She didn’t seem the type that read about it -, and her stormy eyes started scanning the lines.

“One wonders how you know I’m supposed to be paying attention,” Harry replied, looking to the people who passed by slowly.

“I like to play spot the Auror. You guys aren’t exactly as subtle as you think.” Daphne smirked, to herself, and Harry wondered if perhaps…

No, Daphne wouldn’t do it. She hadn’t been using magic, after all.

“How?” Harry asked, and Daphne looked at him. “I mean, we all had stealth classes.”

Theoretically, at least. Harry wasn’t so sure about a few of his coworkers, but he had to at least show he believed in the Auror corps.

“It’s the way you walk.” Daphne said, in the end, and Harry made an inquiring noise. “You guys walk like soldiers.”

“And you know how soldiers walk?” Harry asked, and Daphne simply nodded.

“Must I remind you my husband was an Auror?” She asked, and rose up, foregoing her book. “Come, walk with me.”

Well, Harry did, in fact, have to patrol. They walked together, slowly, and Daphne was able to pick out each Auror from the crowd. Harry wondered if maybe he should suggest more stealth classes or something.

“It’s almost like a game,” Daphne said, getting closer to Harry. Even through her clothes, he could feel how warm she was. “It’s fun. I missed having fun.”

“We could go watch another movie, if you’d like.” He offered, and Daphne offered Harry a simple, sad smile. “I don’t know any foreign movies like you do, but the theater always has a new one.”

“Thank you for the offer, I appreciate it.” Daphne replied, but didn’t truly answer. She kept walking with him, but this time she didn’t point out any more Aurors from the crowd.

He wondered why she seemed so sad, and then, the truth him like a sack full of bricks to the face - it had been a year since the captain died. It seemed no one else had remembered.

Harry looked at Daphne, who seemed like while physically there, mentally, she was not - and honestly, maybe the cold was to blame; as such, Harry slowly started to take them to a small tea shop nearby, a place he had heard some of his coworkers speaking about. Sure, Harry knew they were slacking off when they went there, but Harry decided it was time for him, as well, to let go of responsibilities a little. It wasn’t like the investigation was going anywhere, right? So, if he missed a round or two, it wouldn’t interfere with anything. Probably.

He opened the door for Daphne, and the warm air, smelling like herbs, bathed them for a moment, warming them a little. Daphne choose a table for them, sitting quietly and reading the small menu, on the other side of the tea shop.

“What do you want? My treat,” Harry offered, giving her a smile, and Daphne, smiling softly in turn, called a waitress, telling the girl the name of teas he didn’t know, and something to eat. The girl simply nodded, leaving, and Harry looked at Daphne, who glanced out of the window. “So, my condolences?”

“He’s been dead for a year. Not many condolences to be given.” Was Daphne’s answer, after what seemed like a small eternity. Harry looked at her, and her stormy eyes finally met his. “Besides, I don’t care.”

Harry rose an eyebrow at this, and Daphne sighed.

“Really?” He asked, as the waitress put their teas on the table, the smell already warming Harry up. Harry took a sip, and waited for her answer.

“Why would I care for a man who gave me nothing, and only took things from me?” She replied, and smiled at him. “However, I cannot help but be sad, today. Maybe it’s the contract, that still affects me. Maybe it’s just me, who somehow got attached to that man. Who knows. I sure don't, and it's making me mad.”

Harry couldn’t know as well, and as such, decided it was time for a subject change. Clearing his throat, he asked Daphne if she had seen any movies lately, and that made the storm in her eyes calm down, as she started to talk about the weird french movie she had seen a few days ago.

It sounded nice, Harry realized, but utterly out of his depth, as she started to explain how the yellow spots on the floor were a metaphor for the character’s slowly but surely acceptance of her eminent death. Harry felt it was a little macabre, but that was alright - he had, too, to once accept his imminent death, so he probably understood how the character felt. Probably; the sort of movies Daphne tended to watch were usually buried five feet deep in metaphors and symbolism and other poetic things no one really got.

When they finished their teas, Daphne also finished her explanation, and did not seem as melancholic as before. That was good.

“That was fun,” She said, not allowing Harry to pay for his drink. Harry finished the bitter last dregs of his tea, and let her. “Perhaps the best date I’ve had in months.”

“Is it?” He replied, noticing the sun was appearing through the thick of the clouds, and Daphne smiled, her shine in par with the sun. “I hope I can keep it up, then.”

“I hope, too.” She rose up, and Harry did, as well. Daphne and him went outside, and stood in front of the shop. The sun was warm against his face, and Harry realized he had missed that feeling of warmth. “I feel like we should do this again. What do you say about next week, same time?”

“That sounds great to me.” Harry replied, and Daphne grinned. She gave him a kiss on his cheek and left, and Harry allowed himself a moment as a lovesick school boy, before going back to Hyde park.

On his way back to the place he was supposed to watch, he saw a man in what looked clearly like wizard robes, looking suspiciously to both side in a sort of comic manner, and putting on his best smile, he wondered if, maybe, Daphne was some sort of lucky charm.

**Author's Note:**

> am i satisfied w this? hell no lmao


End file.
